


I Would Walk 500 Miles

by aftereighteen



Category: Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aftereighteen/pseuds/aftereighteen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan wants a present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Would Walk 500 Miles

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on LJ.

Mike’s phone rouses him: 3am. Of course, it’s Ryan, completely oblivious to time zones. “What is it, Doggy?” he grunts sleepily.

“Have you eaten any sheep guts yet?” Ryan asks, sounding irritatingly chirpy given that it’s 10pm in Florida and he’s back in full training.

“No, it’s three AM,” Mike replies. “No whisky either, before you ask.”

“How’s the bagpipe playing coming along, then?” Ryan continues.

“I’m here to play golf,” Mike reminds him, sitting up in bed and turning a light on. “Will that be all?”

“Yeah, given that phone sex is clearly off the menu.”

“It’s three AM,” Mike repeats.

“Jeah, I heard you the first time. You know you wouldn’t care what time it was if I rolled on top of you and started stroking your dick.”

“But you haven’t, so can I go back to sleep?”

“No!” Ryan shouts. “I remembered the most important thing!”

“What is it?” Mike sighs.

“You need to bring me back a present!”

“It’s not your birthday.”

“So? Christmas is coming. And Thanksgiving. And Halloween.”

“You want something specific, don’t you?”

“Yep,” comes the instant reply. “A kilt. But not with one of those stupid purse things.”

Mike leans over and picks up a pen. “What colour?” he asks.

There’s a beat of silence where he swears he can hear Ryan’s jaw drop. “You’re actually gonna do it? I thought I was gonna have to persuade you. I had, like, reasons and shit.”

“It’s three AM,” Mike replies. “Just get it over with.”

“Well, like, obviously that one that Marc Jacobs wore that time was totally hot, but the colour could be so much better. We all know I love dark and sexy but, when you can have brights instead? Not cool...”

“Ryan!” Mike cuts in. “I don’t need the Project Runway rundown on this. Basics: colour, size... whatever. Go.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Alright alright. Uh, obviously Gator colours. That’s blue and orange, in case you’d forgotten. And you know my waist size, dude, don’t make me say it out loud, you know how I don’t like being bigger than you in that way.”

Mike snorts. “Only part of you that is bigger than me.”

“Dude. Uncalled for. You’ll offend Lil’ Reezy and he won’t come out to play.”

“As if.”

“You’re still not up for phone sex, are you?”

“Ry, it’s...”

“Three AM, I know,” Ryan interjects. “Did you write the kilt stuff down?”

“Of course, princess.”

“Good. Call me tomorrow?”

“Later today? Yeah.”

“Sweet dreams, MPeezy.”

“Night, Doggy.”

*

The next morning on the course, Mike spends a reasonable amount of time mentally cursing Ryan. Once they’d hung up, he hadn’t been able to get the idea of sex out of his head but also hadn’t had the guts to phone Ryan back and admit it, so a frustrating thirty minutes of trying to ignore the inevitable had ensued before he’d given up, jerked off and finally gone back to sleep.

As a result, his balls spend more time in the bunkers and the rough – and he’s sure Ryan will make some sort of joke about it not being the first time – than anywhere near the fairway.

He’s on the tee about to take a swing when his phone starts vibrating and, of course, his ball ends up wide of the mark again. Mike pulls out his phone to scroll through the messages whilst he trudges off in search of his ball.

[Reezy 05:58  
Did u get kilt yet?]

[Reezy 05:59  
If not, call from store. Nd 2 approve]

[Reezy 06:02  
On way 2 pool, b out @ 9:30]

Mike rolls his eyes and texts back.

[MPhelps 11:07  
Playin golf. Will shop l8r if time]

[Reezy 06:10  
Find time! Santa needs ur help!]

[MPhelps 11:13  
Put ur fone away or i’ll call AT&T & get ur agent to stop the spon tweets]

[Reezy 06:15  
Fuck u]

[MPhelps 11:18  
U wish]

Mike finds his ball and is about to pocket his phone when he gets another message from Ryan. This time, there’s a picture of his naked ass attached.

[Reezy 06:25  
Jst keep this in mind: easy access, bro]

Mike shakes his head and replies for the final time:

[MPhelps 11:27  
Ur always easy]

*

Mike doesn’t mind shopping. He’s decisive. He’s a guy who knows what he wants. Make a list, get in, get the stuff, pay, get out. He can do all of those things. But apparently not when faced with more tweed than even Ryan could imagine existed.

He thinks Ryan should be grateful for whatever the fuck he can get, but he also knows he might well get shoved straight back on a plane to Scotland should his purchase not meet Ryan “Rockstar” Lochte’s approval.

So he does the only sensible thing and calls Ryan.

“Are you in the store?” Ryan’s panting. Mike finds it disturbing that Ryan’s so excited about this that he can’t breathe properly.

“Are you having palpitations?” he asks.

“Fuck you, I’m at weight training.”

“Oh.” Mike had forgotten that some people weren’t describing themselves as former-Olympians just yet.

“Do they have orange and blue?” Ryan persists, getting his breath back.

“Well... sorta,” Mike answers, scratching the back of his head and staring dumbly at the wall of tweeds. “There’s, like, a dark blue with all these lines in it...”

“Hang up,” Ryan orders.

“But...”

“Just do it. I’m gonna Facetime you right back.”

Mike should’ve known he wouldn’t get away with it that easily. Ryan does as he says and Mike accepts the call.

“Dude,” Ryan says. “I’m all for a bit of hair, but that beard’s getting stupid. That’s just asking for my thighs to get a killer rash.”

“You should be so lucky,” Michael mutters.

“I know, right? If you’d stay in the country we’d have half a chance,” Ryan rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I don’t wanna look at your ugly face, show me the fabric!”

Mike turns his phone round and tries to subtly walk along the wall to show Ryan the fabrics. He’s pretty sure the store owner thinks he’s nuts, but he also figures the guy is probably used to tourists.

“Stop!” Ryan yells. Mike pokes his head round to try and see Ryan and what he’s looking at. “Dude! Did you not hear me when I said that beard is fucking terrifying? Stay arm’s length from the phone, jeah?”

“I can’t see what you’re looking at!” Mike protests.

“You’re stood right in fucking front of it!” Ryan says, pointing ineffectively through the screen. “That one. That’s blue and orange.”

Michael wonders if he’s colour blind and reaches out to touch one of the fabrics. “This one?”

“Jeah! It’s awesome. It’s even got green in too, you know green’s my favourite!”

“Great. We’re done. I’ll text you later.”

“Thanks bro. Gotta get back to the weights.”

Michael hangs up and waves the manager over, indicating the tweed Ryan chose. The guy measures up the right amount and tells Mike how long it’ll take. Mike pulls his credit card out but the guy holds his hand up and starts asking about buckles and belts.

Mike groans and calls Ryan back.

“What, dude? I’m busy.”

“Too busy to pick buckles out?”

“Oh c’mon, son, that’s the easy bit. The blingingest ones.”

Mike’s sure Ryan used only four real words out of twelve just then, but nods anyway. “What about the belt, brown or black leather?”

Ryan considers for a minute. “Black.”

Mike hangs up again and relays the requests. He then finds himself being guided to a wall of sporrans – or purses, as Ryan had put it. He shakes his head, explaining that this wouldn’t be necessary. The guy raises an eyebrow at him and explains the purpose of the sporran. Mike’s eyes almost pop out of his head and he pulls his phone out again.

“How the fuck do you get yourself out of bed in the morning when you can’t make a decision by yourself?” Ryan sounds pissed.

Mike winces. “You need a purse, dude.”

“I told you, no I don’t,” Ryan says firmly.

“And I, as your boyfriend, am telling you that you do.”

Mike can hear Ryan thinking again. He’s not sure if it’s because he used the B word or because Mike got assertive about a fashion choice. “Why do you care all of a sudden?” Ryan eventually asks.

“Because they’re to stop you from showing the entire world your junk in a stiff breeze,” Mike hisses into the phone.

Ryan snorts. “Because swim briefs are so demure, Mike.”

Michael grips the phone a little tighter. “I know exactly how fucking obvious your collection is. But even in a white Speedo with a star over your crotch, the world only gets the general idea. Totally different from a full frontal real live look at your goods.”

“You worried that if the world sees the real deal they’ll want a slice, MPeezy?” Ryan teases.

“No,” Mike hisses, “I’m saving you from a Prince Harry. I thought even you realised you don’t need that kinda publicity?”

Ryan mutters something which sounds like, “good point” and Mike waits for an answer on the sporran.

“Again, blingingest,” Ryan eventually replies. “Dude, virtual shopping’s fun and all but I’ve really gotta go. Just think Reezy if there’s any more decisions to make, jeah?”

Michael returns to the register and waits for the guy to total everything up, until he’s informed that Ryan also needs a pin for his kilt. He’s ready to collapse – and is thinking that tonight might see him sample a few whiskies – and takes Ryan’s advice: “The blingingest one, please.”

He leans against the counter, finally paying for his purchases and uses the slightly bizarre thought of fucking Ryan in a manly skirt to get him through.

**Author's Note:**

> Whilst researching this (stop laughing, there was Googling), I found a website which sells tweed car interiors called "ball2ufall". Of course, this sold me on the concept.


End file.
